


lock and key

by NowWeOwnTheNight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 'and by 'fuck up' i mean make 9999999x better', 'im sure ull find a way to fuck up my life', Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, R, Travel, basically them meeting up and yahaba yellin internally abt how far they've come, kyo secretly loving it, kyotani having anxiety/sensory overload, minimal angst wow i know right, much reminiscing, on lil seijoh shenanigans, only those two r actually in this, these fuckers proving they know each other so well and dancing around one anothe, yahaba being a painful hipster-y poetic-world-view hoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowWeOwnTheNight/pseuds/NowWeOwnTheNight
Summary: "Thank you.” The waiter says, bowing back and standing aside, motioning him down between a few booths.He touches Kyotani’s shoulder, staying behind him, out of his vision. Kyotani relaxes and doesn’t turn around, his tension had been running high enough that there’s no jump at the contact."Hair?" He asks, sliding his hand up a little to touch the fluffy hairline on the nape of Kyotani’s neck."I couldn’t be bothered to get it done properly.""I can do it for you if you’d like.""Thanks... You-"A waiter pushed past- Yahaba is forced to skirt around the edge of the table and slide in to the seat across from Kyotani.The stare-down starts all over again; anyone would think they’re meeting for the first time."You’re thinner." Yahaba comments, shrugging his coat off and laying it along he rest of his booth seat."You have a tan... And a black eye."“Tables are ferocious.”“To a princess like you, they are.”Yahaba laughs, unfolding his arms and resting his hands out on the table, Kyotani reaching instantly to take them, careful to avoid the burning hotplate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HEYAAAAA im back from a fortnight in japan which was hella- this is based off of the time i spent in tokyo   
> im moving house at the moment + uni is starting up so if youre looking forward to things you may have to digitally- but gently -punch me in the ribs and remind me to do things  
>  also i get lost in the world of ‘the blossoms just in time’ sometimes so like . A] check that fic the fuck out if u like daisuga and B] ignore any screaming bc i have too many feelings for it !!!!!  
> ANYWAY OK- this is the pairing as said in the tags but i thought it would be cool to leave the start ambiguous and weird n have em identified when they meet n other such subtexty bullshit , so pls ignore tags and just read with a faceless person in mind ? or is it just me eh idc i have no idea how it got to like almost 10k but heY here we go  
> [i reccomend listening to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JToBvDajEs bc i half-ass edited to this, and also i initially thought of this while listening to ed sheerans 'castle on a hill' in a maccas at narita airport after a panic attack bc my friend ran off for two hours bc she left her passport on a train and had to go get it back- we only just made out flight lmao . this came on and i was Struck and it snowballed and yeah]
> 
> TL;DR i have Many Feels , welcome to the new year , enjoy

=+=

_ You have 3 LINE notifications _

He’d only meant to change songs, a quick tap and swipe on the way to the correct platform through the busy hub of Nippori station. Using a phone at high travel times such as this is nearly as dangerous as drunk driving and twice as embarrassing when you get in to trouble for it. _Don’t forget to get on the side that goes towards where you want,_ he thinks, punching in is phone password and half-dodging oncoming crowds with soft ‘excuse me’s, now streaming out instinctively. His home country grows more and more familiar. Afternoons going dark early, returning smog after the New Years turnover, big moon shining in fleeting pieces between the tall buildings whizzing by the fast train bound towards the city from Narita. Unsleeping avenues with bones that rasp and joints that protest every new movement; he’s in his territory, ready to welcome him back after being away for years. Los Angeles- America- western countries in general, you’d get scowled at for bumping in to someone on the street, a snort or a huffed ‘ _soz_ man’ at best. How he’s missed the private and respected, able to walk without meeting angry or grossly concerned gazes, tight-lipped smiles that read ‘you don’t belong here’ more than they do a friendly sign towards a stranger.

The app takes its time to load, struggling to use the free Wi-Fi in the building, _shit, I really have to get my SIM back off Watari- and shit, I don’t think I told anyone about when I’d be back. My friends know I’m back today, but I didn’t give a time. I should ignore it until I get home, have a bath, start unpacking, and-_

The name- a small grey dot beside it -at the top of the display causes him to freeze a few steps away from the gates, stirring up a disturbance in the flow of nightly commuters. Someone smacks in to his backpack, crossing to the less congested ticket gate, knocking his phone out of his hand and sending his ticket fluttering down to the currents of shiny shoes, runners, heels, sandals.

“Shit.”

Scooping up the device and huddling between lines to grab his ticket, he dashes through the nearest gate, nearly forgetting the tiny rectangle ticket on his way through. _Yamanote Line,_ he echoes the sign hanging over escalators leading down further underground, _to Ikebukuro, Shinjuku, Shibuya._ Unlocking his phone a second time, securely stationed on a step of the escalator, he reopens LINE and taps on the newest chat.

_ Woof: wanna meet p ? _

_ Woof: u landd in TOK rigt ? _

_ Woof: *1 Missed Call* _

“Fuck…”

His thumbs hover over the message, seconds from pressing down on the text entry when the air is filed with a sweet melody.

“Fuck!” Having to push past people standing on the right side of the escalator, he sprints for the train. The door closes on his bag and hurls open- he has to turn sideways to fit on the crowded carriage, but he’d made it. Phone back out and open, he doesn’t hesitate to reply, begging for a distraction from the sardine train as it takes off.

**_You: just getting on the train_ **

_ Woof: t ? _

**_You: my old place_ **

Calling the number is useless. Straight to voicemail, as expected. _He’s probably in the bath._

That irritating song he’d forgotten all about- he’d originally pulled his phone out to skip -ends, starting up on a new beat. Locking his phone with the resolve to leave it until he’s out on the street, he taps his foot along to the music and leans on a pole to keep his balance.

Tokyo passes in just two of its many grand shapes. There’s the surface- the roads, trees, parks and skyscrapers. Then, there’s the subways, the stations of anthills under and over the ground level, blood in the veins that run incessantly, in a way far more beautiful than the mixture of old and new, green and steel on the face of the city.

He’s looking forward to getting to his apartment, to the state of magnificence that involves being removed from the bustling hive, safe many stories up, thick glass and thicker walls and the thickest homespun atmosphere disconnected, untraceable to the massive capital below.

 _“Now arriving at: Shinjuku Station. Shinjuku station. The doors on the left side will open…”_ The speakers ring, everyone swaying forwards with the train’s deceleration. He can’t help himself- peeking at the display of the phone in time to see a red and a green button brightened at the bottom fade to his lock screen.

_ Woof: *1 Missed Call* _

In perfect answer, his call tries and fails. _He must’ve been leaving the house. God knows that dog can bark._

A few meter out in the fresh nighttime air, leaving the crowded rooms yet still in the thick of masses, his phone lights up with another notification.

_ Woof: monjya ? _

He smirks down at the screen. His feet move west, taking him down the sidewalk on memory.

**You: im near**

Crosswalks count down in green, in red; vertical lights are not as bright as he remembered.

_ Woof: 1/2 ? _

**You: give me 40**

At last- one large road, a couple of side-streets and an alley across the suburb later -he looks up at his building, the external steps, and the large hotel a few small blocks behind it. _Floor 16…_ His old senior’s words come to mind before he can banish it, _no elevators we climb like men_!! Sighing, unable to ignore Matsukawa’s catchy, outdated jokes that have been haunting him, he starts the climb.

**You: and start without me**

_ Woof: ok _

_ Woof: .. have fun w ur stairs _

_ Woof: tht girl didnt leav it shit i mde sure _

The city noises leave him little by little with every set of stairs he passes, petering out to a tempo closer to L.A., then down to Melbourne at floor 12. _Or maybe I’m just imagining things…_

He had organized a lease on his apartment before leaving, renting it out to a businesswoman for the duration of his overseas study in America- a convenience for both of them. When he opens the door, it’s just as he’d left it: the window is even open, fully inward to rest against the wall, no fly screen, even for this high up, _guess it would do much to stop a person. Are there even bugs at this height?_ His shoe rack is empty, the bed stripped, the kitchen a little worse for wear. There are a few chips in the off-white paint above his bedroom door and behind the television. A new stain is faded into the carpet that covers the floor between the kitchen and the front door and goes on under the closed door to the bedroom. The wooden floorboards of the living room is spotless, _thank fuck, I was so worried about that. It’s real Jarrah timber from Australia. She really took care of it well._

Upon entering his room, he frowns. Everything is, again, eerily _exactly_ as he had it, save for the lack of personal items and bed sheets. _She didn’t move anything around at all- no, she must have. She told me in her email that she’d moved furniture. She said- yes, I remember, she said she’d pay for the damage to the wall in the bathroom and that she had moved the bed, the couch, and the television, replaced the bath curtain, bought a new microwave…_

Shucking his two-day-old clothes and tossing them to the corner in which his laundry basket used to be, he opens and dumps the suitcase on the bed, rifling through souvenirs and dirty clothes and notebooks for something clean- _at least a nice top to go on._ Shimmying back in to his thermal singlet and chucking his jacket and an old scarf through the door for later, undoing enough buttons of an untouched dress shirt to pull on, he heads back out into the main room. _Wish I had some deodorant, fucking hell, this singlet is rank…_

_Come to think of it, this place doesn’t even smell like… Anything. It even- it smells like the weird lemon spray, the stuff I used to clean the bathroom, the one that eventually took over the whole place. I only lived here for a year before going away._

Indents on the carpet- _I saw indents in the carpet, same as the posts of the bedframe. She must have moved it to the corner, away from the window. Then- who moved it back? Who knows where I like to sleep close to the window…_

_Last time I was in this room, I was saying goodbye to…_

He pauses at the thought, shirt hauled over his head, a button stuck in his hair.

_Did he seriously break in to my apartment to clean everything and put it back in to its place? Really… This guy…_

Suddenly, his phone rings. Flailing and falling and yelping are not the most graceful way to pick up, not that it matters- he misses the call, too busy curled up on the ground, groaning in pain. At least his hair is freed and he can pull damn shirt on. A quick look from the table corner to his reflection in the mirror, he presses his fingers under his eye and groans.

“That’s gonna bruise, _shit_.” Jacket snatched off the ground, keys jingling in the pocket, phone in hand, a quick thigh pat to check for his wallet- _it’s gonna rain, too_ –umbrella off the floor; everything accounted for, he heads out.

_ Woof: jst dont freak out _

_ Woof: *1 Missed Call* _

_ Woof: did u frek out ? idiot _

Slamming the door and locking it behind him, he takes off, thundering down the stairs. Just as he’s calling back, a new message comes through.

_ Woof: i have a table _

“That’s all? _Really_? That’s _all_ you have to say to me? _Idiot_ …”

**You: ill be 20 min tops**

_ Woof: ok _

=+=

Ikebukuro is as glossily lit and dotted with shadowy lie-in-wait, seedy men as ever. That’s just a judgmental view, but he’s heard _too_ _many_ things about this specific part of Tokyo at night to really trust anyone’s intentions.

_ Woof: im gonna order now _

**You: u havent already ?**

_ Woof: theyre pissed its funny _

**You: always the shit stirrer even in your old age**

_ Woof: thats a disgusting phrase . im 233 fuck u _

_ Woof: fuck iment 23 fuk of _

**You: well done**

He hides a snort of laughter in his hand, carrying on down the alley until its very end. Turning up a new one and getting down partway, he realizes how lost he really is.

**You: im a bit lost**

_ Woof: wher r u rn _

A tall blue building crowded with loud, excited teenagers and topped with yellow writing dominates the sky to his right.

_Explains the crowds, there must be some new release merch or something…_

**You: how about we meet at animate? its where we belong after all**

_ Woof: stop breking the 4th wall and com here  _

_ Woof: *1 Image Attached* _

It’s a map from his location at the anime superstore, leading him back up roads he’d already walked. He giggles at himself and presses call without thinking.

"Hello!"

_"… On your way?"_

"Few minutes."

_"Didn’t forget your keys?"_

"Leave me alone."

_"Fuck you."_

Silence falls over the line for a minute or so on both ends. His breathing is shuddering in the cold, overtaking a majority of the rushing city noises, cars beeping and an ambulance passing, shop promoters calling their wares and times, muttered 'excuse me's and 'thank you's. Sizzling hot plates, drunken patrons and harsh laughter over booth tops filter through on the other side, _I wonder how long he’s been at the table. The waiters must really be frustrated with him._

"I’m here."

_"See you soon."_

"Alright."

The stairs up to the restaurant are thin, and he enters shop with a grateful sigh. It’s warmer inside; louder, granted, however that’s nothing a few drinks can’t fix. He can spot the firm, tense set of shoulders from the entrance. A head of brown hair would dissuade him from disturbing an unfamiliar stranger were it not for the way the man holds himself, even alone in a semi-private booth. The anxiousness that externalizes itself in the form of anger is practically visible on his skin, can be heard thrumming through his system.

A waiter approaches him, breaking the view.

"Table for one?"

"My friend is here." He mumbles, nodding politely.

“Sorry-”

“But may I pay for the meal now?”

“Which table?”

“Uh… Ten?” Listening to the short order that the waiter rattles off, he pulls a few notes out of his wallet, placing them in the tray. His change comes back in record speed and he couldn’t be gladder.

"Thank you.” The waiter says, bowing back and standing aside, motioning him down between a few booths.

He touches Kyotani’s shoulder, staying behind him, out of his vision. Kyotani relaxes and doesn’t turn around, his tension had been running high enough that there’s no jump at the contact.

"Hair?" He asks, sliding his hand up a little to touch the fluffy hairline on the nape of Kyotani’s neck.

"I couldn’t be bothered to get it done properly."

"I can do it for you if you’d like."

"Thanks... You-"

A waiter pushed past- Yahaba is forced to skirt around the edge of the table and slide in to the seat across from Kyotani.

The stare-down starts all over again; anyone would think they’re meeting for the first time.

"You’re thinner." Yahaba comments, shrugging his coat off and laying it along he rest of his booth seat.

"You have a tan... And a black eye."

“Tables are ferocious.”

“To a princess like you, they are.”

Yahaba laughs, unfolding his arms and resting his hands out on the table, Kyotani reaching instantly to take them, careful to avoid the burning hotplate. Cabbage is already burning, pork half-cooked on the top and pieces of vegetables sticking out here and there. _Of course he ordered crunchy noodles with it_ \- it’s Yahaba’s favourite.

"I missed you." Yahaba says, speaking honestly and soft.

"I didn’t."

"I know you didn’t! You’d _never_." He gasps dramatically, playful but still gentle, _gentle, soft_.

[Kyotani has missed this- _him_ -too much for words.]

"Hm. Never ever."

They sit quietly, Yahaba switching between staring at Kyotani’s face and staring at their hands, sometimes squeezing them, sometimes rubbing a thumb over the dry skin of his knuckles. 

When the monjya finishes cooking, they divide some of it up and start to eat. Taking on the mentality of a five year-old, Kyotani plays with the bonito flakes- he’s always been so fascinated with the dried fish’s exothermic reaction, curling and rolling off the sides of the pieces. With curious, wide eyes, he watches Yahaba take a scoop and tip them all over the monjya still cooking on the hot plate- the reaction is twice as lively, causing more and more of the flakes to fall and end their little dances, soaked in to the oil of the cooker and go still. 

"I’m paying." Yahaba announces once they’ve cleared their plates, scraping the last of the waste off the hotplate and putting his chopsticks together.

"No." Standing and looking down at Kyotani as he says this makes him look petulant rather than genuinely challenging. He pulls his coat on, smirks even though he misses an armhole three times.

"I _knew_ you’d say that, so I paid when I came in."

"You’re an idiot."

"Yeah well you’re buying this idiot a crepe and taking him with you to see Godzilla and maybe getting him some ramen from that good place with the circle logo."

"Proving my point- you’re an idiot." Kyotani shrugs his rain jacket on and they make their way out, yelling thanks over the bustling restaurant. Cold air blasts up from the street and Yahaba wants to bury himself in Kyotani’s fluffy-looking raincoat, would be content to stand in the breezy staircase all night if it meant staying so close to the man. "We just ate so much food and you seriously want ramen?"

"Well we have to get _all the way_ to Shinjuku- and then walk _so far_ -"

"It will literally take half an hour.” Kyotani elbows him once they’re off the stairs, nothing more than a quick jab to his ribs. “ _Idiot_."

The train to Shinjuku is on time, still a scarily precise occurrence to Yahaba, who’s used to lax buses and driving himself around in horrendous traffic. They escape through the nearest exit, not caring for the extra walk back around the station to find a crepe stand on the way to their destination. Custard and banana, simple and sweet- he hands the end of it to Kyotani, leaving him with some pastry and a bit of the ice cream.

The street that has their favourite ramen shop is easy to find, for the head and clawed hand of the grand monster Godzilla overlooking the alleyway.

"Walk?" Kyotani asks, glaring down along the bustling, tourist-filled road. Yahaba nods and sticks his hands in his pockets; happy to follow wherever Kyotani wants. 

=+=

“We’re kinda close to mine, huh. Trying to get rid of me so fast?”

“Ugh.”

They ended up wandering all the way past the Tokyo Metropolitan Building, Kyotani again aborting his plan due to the tourists. The views, while not as grand as Skytree, are incredible- and free –from up there. He huffs every third step or so. Yahaba gets tired of counting and gives in, laughing to the night sky. Over a bridge, right past an enclosed court, alongside a wooden playground and over another bridge into a small park- Kyotani stomps on, puffing vapor like a steam train.

"Looking forward to a cold, lonely night in your apartment?" Kyotani snaps, unprovoked and grouchy and _oh, okay_ , Yahaba figures, _that’s why he’s this tetchy_. The silhouette of a shrine shimmers through the trees in the low light of this park Kyotani has bulleted into the center of in a bid to get away from the streets.

"Not really, no…”

Kyotani glances, meeting his eyes for a second. They’re glowing, but then again, Yahaba has rarely been able to describe them as anything but.

He brushes Yahaba’s shoulder with a hand. A wordless 'ok' as he descends the steps and passes through into the area of the shrine, Yahaba taking his time to wander down. The clack of metal on wood followed by a jangling bell, two muffled claps. _It’s one of those ones, the ropes. There used to be one near our high school..._ Yahaba reminisces fondly, patiently standing at the base of the stairs for Kyotani to finish.

Oikawa had dragged him to the shrine back at home after he’d done his captaincy ceremony, praying alongside him for the next year of volleyball. It made them late to the team dinner, and, it was one of the last few times Yahaba had been to a shrine. He still looks back on it happily despite the haunting and tumulus final school year that followed. All the times he had visited shrines after that instance, a grand total of two, were a mere location, and a hasty prayer: an emergency meet up spot with Watari, and a here-there-everywhere plead respectively. The latter had been for his ace to heal fast and become well enough to move on his own. Not once was thinking about the Inter-High Prelims that had been looming at the time. There are more important things in life, Yahaba had finally realized, than upperclassmen and volleyball and _pride_. That’s ultimately what made him completely different captain to Oikawa, in the end- what lead the team to quarterfinals in Nationals.

Kyotani trots down the steps, Yahaba moving in stride with him. They wander off up a path, both knowing the vague direction of the station from here.

"Even though the shrine is on the far side of the park, it’s like you’re in the mountains… Then here, in the center of the park, it’s like there’s a cloud of angry bees in the distance which- really isn’t that bad of a metaphor..."

"Your poeticness always pissed me off." Kyotani snarls at him.

"Poeticness is not a word, Kentarou."

"Whatever. There’s somewhere else I want to go, anyway."

"Somewhere I can’t ruin with my gross words?"

"You’ll find a way to. It’s not somewhere as light, but- I know you’ll find a way to do it."

"I know the place." Yahaba hums, ignoring Kyotani’s remark.

=+=

The line out of Harajuku station is packed, as expected, and Yahaba has to almost jog to keep up with Kyotani as he strides down ramps, stairways, bolts through the gates and out on to the street. He doesn’t wait for Yahaba, who gets caught at the station window trying to keep his ticket as a souvenir. He’s already crossed the bridge and started along the lantern-lit path when Yahaba’s wheezing and thumping footsteps catch up.

"But _why_?" Yahaba questions as if they’d been talking the whole way, had been thick in conversation about their target prior to being separated. _Why this one? Why this shrine?_

"I like it." Kyotani grunts, slackening slightly and taking Yahaba’s hand when he finally reaches him. "Hurry _up_."

Although he has slowed, Kyotani makes a point of staying just faster than Yahaba so he can have the pleasure of dragging him through the forest. Or maybe Yahaba is the one who slows down for the sole reason of keeping Kyotani latched on, a constant pull alongside the masses of lamps, barrels, releasing him to wash his hands and drink before they enter the shrine.

He sticks his other hand in Yahaba’s pocket and grumbles when he finds no five-yen pieces- Yahaba fixing him with and unimpressed glare, _what do you expect, I’ve been in Japan for three hours tops excluding customs_ -and fishes one of the many he stashes in the zipped middle pocket of his own wallet.

The coin clinks where he throws it, clanking against the bars before falling through. One bow, two claps- Yahaba stands at the middle of the square exactly where he was left, waiting for Kyotani to finish praying, to bow twice at the end and stalk back, magnetized to Yahaba’s hand.

 _‘To my place’,_ the rough grip Kyotani’s hand tells him, the nerves and impatience rubbing off on Yahaba.

=+=

It begins to rain the moment they step under the shelter of the station. Kyotani grumbles when Yahaba giggles, watching him amusedly as he gets a hand caught getting his raincoat on, blocking one of the ticket gates as he struggles to free himself. The temperature always drops astronomically in the winter rains. This weather Yahaba prefers- it reminds him more of the home he used to have.

_We used to have._

This train is fairly barren. Yahaba checks his phone and smirks at himself. _Two minutes past eleven. Trust this asshole to drag me out on a two-hour shrine-visiting spree._

"At least the train is a bit warmer.” He vaguely hears Kyotani grumble, eyes honed in on shaking shoulders, hands rubbed palm-to-palm between his thighs in an attempt to warm up.

"Haha, yeah..." Yahaba tugs his scarf out of his shirt, looping it around Kyotani’s neck, flipping one end over his shoulder to cover his throat, loose enough to protect the top of his chest. "Here… You’re shivering.”

Kyotani touches the scarf when Yahaba is looking away, unaware that the window reflects the sight perfectly, from the slight blush on his cheeks to the barest upturn of his lips.

"It’s so dull…"

"Really?” Promptly, Yahaba focuses on the view beyond the reflection. “I think Tokyo is beautiful in the rain.”

"I… I meant the scarf."

"Oh…"

In the dark, he can’t see the walls surrounding the railways as the train goes underground, submerging the carriages that little bit more into the skin of the city, becoming part of its muscle and tissue, its nerves.

 _Two stops before Samezu, if you’re heading in the direction of Yokohama-_ Yahaba remembers Kyotani emailing him about his new apartment, never bothering to give him the address. That, he had to ask Watari for.

The area is crowded and large, like most of Tokyo, although considerably run down, and dotted with graveyards. Blasting past a small block of them, the gravesites stand up like pegs and sticks stuck in the dirt of some child’s fantasy imagination; built alone beneath a grand tree and so unaware of the future in store, what these tiny twig towers will become.

Getting off train and out of the station, Kyotani leads him under bridge, running the light to get away from the traffic rumbling above. He pops open his umbrella, sighing when Kyotani releases his hand and falls to his pace, a step or three away. Knowing full well why Kyotani does this- respecting it –doesn’t make him miss the contact any less.

Those thunder-like noises scare him. Cars on hollow motorways, trains on tracks, the noise encased under an umbrella, garage doors opening and closing, shoddy motors, loud boilers and ventilation fans like the ones on the roof of Aoba Johsai. Yahaba can never forget the trip they made in their third year to the city for a science excursion, and no one else in the class knew what was going on with him. Every time they walked under an overpass, or were in the underground and a train passed on a story above, Kyotani would clap his hands over his ears, squeeze his eyes shut, and try to tread straight. Yahaba ended up leading him whenever it happened, keeping to the back of the group for Kyotani’s sake.

"I’ve forgotten where your place is."

"You’ve forgotten a lot about this place…"

It’s true. He lingers longer on some signs, watches the countdowns to the intersections like they’ll go away at any moment.

"Not about you, though.” Yahaba says simply. The closer they get to his house, the more comfortable he gets. _Or he’s getting used to being me around again, or he’s been like his since I’ve been gone and-_ Yahaba shakes his head. "I don’t think…"

"Huh, that so? I think I’ve forgotten a lot about you…"

They pass the first of many graveyards in silence.

"Have I changed?" Unable to help it, Yahaba holds the umbrella to the side away from Kyotani for a second and nudges him gently, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Hmh?"

"Me. Am I different?"

Kyotani regards him in the process of crossing a side street, ignoring the taxi that beeps when he stops for a moment, allowing Yahaba to walk on ahead of him, so deep in whatever analysis he’s doing he forgets the real world.

"You smell bad." He announces, a considerable length down the road, having passed several shops in contemplative silence. The smell spills out into the street, mixing sweet with the sour rain and before Yahaba can question Kyotani’s ability to pick something up as random and obscure as his scent, he moves on. "And your shoes aren’t as nice as they were, and I know how anal you are about _good_ shoes… Your accent is weaker and you talk almost like a foreigner who’s learnt the language." He pauses, doesn't look around although Yahaba can tell he’s checking for something- though he’s never been able to figure out _what_ , after all the time they’ve spent together. _Onlookers? Dogs? Aliens, like Oikawa always guessed? Kindaichi said that despite being a Mad Dog, he was actually part cat, always staring off at something no one else could see… I’ll never get it_. "All through dinner, you never once blew bubbles in your soda. That twitchy move whenever you reach for something the same time I do- I hate that you’ve started to do it again. You don’t hum along to the sounds of the train departures, and you didn’t nod at the ticket machine. Or the little wrist flick when you take your ticket back from the gates. As the trains come in you don’t stare at your feet and ignore them- now you watch, you checked every window of every carriage. You’ve stopped doing the nose thing, too, which pisses me off." 

"Okay, _none_ of those I could’ve got by myself, freak-"

"But you still glare at me, even though it took a few minutes and… _Pleasantries_." He spits out the last word as if it pains him.

Yahaba glares at Kyotani and, dare he say it, Kyotani smirks like he’s gotten his way.

"And you’re happy about that?"

"You."

_I’m happy about you._

"Hah- remember when we used to hate each other?"

"Mh. I still hate you, if that’s what you’re worried about."

"Yeah, I hate you, too." A storefront closes on the other side of the alley Kyotani swerves in to, the man chattering with the café owner next-door loud enough over the rolling metal door he covers his shop with. Quieter, to avoid being heard despite the rain that’s making a racket on Kyotani’s raincoat, he mumbles: "I love you, though."

Kyotani nods.

As if in greeting, passing, like Yahaba is one of his customers he’s seeing out the door after a small purchase. He wonders if Kyotani as any idea how hard his heart squeezes in his chest at the simple admission. The eyes that meet his fleetingly through the thin rain is the only affirmative he needs. Kyotani is just as affected by Yahaba’s words as Yahaba is by Kyotani’s actions.

It’s just as it’s always been.

A simple explanation for something overcomplicated- be it in math or the myriad of his head.

A finger brush on the bench when Yahaba hurt his wrist falling out of a toss jump.

A quiet whisper on a ten second long phone call, “you’re okay, Kentarou, come over when you can, I’m here, mum had extra food for you anyway”.

A slight twist in a spike after Yahaba quietly corrects something about Kyotani’s attack on a team’s offense.

A snide comment on a lady who had insulted Kyotani’s hair and grown offended when she deduced that he had eyeliner on while he’d been ringing up her purchases; something about his makeup being far better than hers, that he’d look better in those heels than her.

Hands, swiftly linked under the table at a family dinner when Yahaba’s grandparents were relentless in asking after a girl in his life, trying to set him up with various ones they knew to be 'perfect'.

So many pieces- in Kyotani’s introverted nature and Yahaba’s easy balance between the enforced outgoingness as part of his upbringing and the need to recharge in quiet solitude- pieced together, over time. They were stupid to hate one another and yet they would not be the way they are now were it not for the initial rivalry that had to be put aside, resolved for the benefit of the team. The way that cracked everything open in them was hard, necessary, messy and jumbled in with the hormones and ingrained insecurities that surfaced and failed to subside as they grew in to their skins and personalities. Kyotani had, in the beginning, masked his self-doubt by targeting and attacking Yahaba, easily picking and pulling him apart. Eventually, seeing his nemesis-turned-friend bare and honest split him down the middle, letting his truths grow out of the rip and in to the light like vines, weeds. They don’t talk about it so much- that period of time. Once everything had become unreserved, certain grudges and dislikes became reasonable, made sense. Kyotani’s avoidance to touch, his blank and vacant reaction to shouting and loud, sudden noises; his fear of coming to Yahaba’s house, being near his parents, fucking up in front of them. Yahaba’s dislike in exploring the less conservative concepts of love he’d been taught from a young age to look away from, the kind of things he left for America to study- the kind of things Kyotani taught him to fight through, to fight for, as much as he started off hating himself for being.

Advocating, educating, discovering more about it; about himself, about Kyotani, about the youth and the elderly alike and what made their views on the matter so different. It became two main issues, the duo core of their reason to cling to one another, as much as they felt to act like they detested the idea.

 "... I hate how stupidly insecure you were."

"When?” When Kyotani doesn’t say anything for another block, Yahaba prompts him gently. “About what? Be more specific, loser."

"Sexuality. University entry grades, and transfers, and moving overseas. Your captaincy, following Oikawa. Leaving the familiarity of Japan and taking it out on me. Learning English. Practicing with me, and also taking it out on me. I hate that you’re so wholeheartedly scared of life yet you come across as so brave- no, more... That you feel you need to mask and build walls to hide your weaknesses. And that you let it come crashing down in big ways, and that I never knew whether you’d survive or not. And your grandparents- they _sucked_. I wanted to drown them in their soups. Especially when they shouted at okaa-Haba-san for standing up from you when you told them you liked a boy." Yahaba smirks at Kyotani’s nickname for his mother. 

Okaa-Haba-san. It doesn’t make much sense, but then again Kyotani’s relationship with her never did, either. One day he’d be leant on her side, instructing her on a meal with an online recipe open on the phone in his hand. Other days she’d skirt around him as though on eggshells, talking in breaths and soft hums to Yahaba and her husband, like she knew he’d had a bad day. Like she knew how he needed to be treated on instinct that extended beyond motherly. Yahaba always had a niggling as to why their 'family gatherings' were limited to his father’s side and only select connections on his mothers. Kyotani and his family’s situation helped him understand that little bit more about his own family; the way prejudice and worldviews could break.

"That was the first time we really talked- like, beyond the court and team meetings and such, wasn’t it?"

"Yeah…”

“Yeah, changing room tiles and the lights going out after hours and we had to break out through a window, and you couldn’t stop crying- _wouldn’t_ , until I sat down with you."

“Hey-”

"I was freaking out about - I didn’t even trust Watari with that, at that point-"

"Yahaba-"

"We weren’t so close then... We both thought we would put it behind at the end of the year..."

"I-"

"How _dumb_..."

"... It took ages for us to get it all out, but I’m glad we did."

"You told me about your money... The apartment... Your parents-"

"I never told anyone that before... I’m glad my intuition about you was... was good. We were both messes, I didn’t have much defense left when you asked..."

"To be honest, I had hoped I’d never see you again after that night."

"Yahaba."

"But- but I was so glad I stayed, to help you, get you away from those- those _demons_ -"

"Yahaba-"

"And- and it explained those bruises, all the times you pulled back from training, and…” Kyotani gives up, forgoes words and merely nods, wordless. This Yahaba picks up on instantly, steering the conversation. "I still can’t believe you learnt how to pick locks to save your dog because he kept closing your door with you outside-"

"Yeah. And we kept staying back at practice to talk, you always made me pick the window open, and you almost sprained your ankle jumping out the window-"

"And you kept deflecting, just like you are now, but-"

"Got me there."

"I don’t mind. I know it’s still hard for you." He frowns at the way Kyotani scrunches his eyebrows close, not quite frowning. "No, it _is_ , and that’s not a weak or bad thing, Kyotani." At his name, Kyotani flinches, his head coming up, fingers clamping on the hem of the jumper through his pockets. _‘Lets stop, right now’_ , Yahaba knows it instantly, _‘I don’t want to do this’_. A last call before one of two things: violence, or running. "It your dog at home? How is he?"

An easy conversation to step in to, especially for Kyotani, who adores his dog, often joking that he cares for it more than he does for Yahaba. Some days, reading Kyotani’s emails, he would almost believe the threat.

"He’s good... Almost choked on a keychain capsule Watari left behind after a night at an arcade, but otherwise he’s been great."

"Still likes the place?"

"Yeah, doesn't like it busy though. Have to walk at weird hours, avoid certain places. He spends a lot of time at the window, usually on my bed."

"I know. I saw the pictures, in your emails... You love him a lot, huh... He’s what, seven, now?"

"Six and a bit, but even then, he’s reckless. Stupid Husky, too big for everything and getting in to trouble- he almost burnt himself on the kotatsu, the other day... I do love him. Even if he was a troublemaker when I first had him. Didn’t like me _at all_. Got me locked out and forced me to explain to the landlady. Five times. By then, I learnt my lesson, taught myself lock-picking, dumb puppy..."

Yahaba smiles.

"That was how you started explaining-"

"Yeah, I know. The dog, the place, the rent, and then the- you can _stop_ , now."

"I just like how much he meant, even at the end of your tether money wise."

"I’m still shocked your mum let me bring him... When I finally..."

"Moved in- and _moving on_ -"

Kyotani shrugs, eyes missing Yahaba’s when he looks over, _‘thank you. For putting up with this…’_ But all that comes out is a soft hum.

“What about when Kindaichi lost the keys to the gym so you picked it, saving him from talking to Iwaizumi?”

“His crush was impossible.” Kyotani murmurs.

“He got better.”

"Lock picking got us in to so much trouble."

"A good skill should never go to waste-"

"It was always your fault, exploiting it-"

" _Oh_ , the closing ice cream shop Watari took us to-” Yahaba goes, cackling, skipping a little in his walk- “That was the first time he learnt about it, because he was hell-bent on breaking a window if we couldn't get inside-"

"Nothing can stand in between Watari and free sweets, not even my shitty, selective morals..." Snorting, Yahaba shakes his umbrella, showering Kyotani further and finally easing a fraction more of the strain from his frame, beaming when Kyotani glowers at him. "But, free ice creams free ice cream. The man had a point, I guess."

"Do _you_ have any fond lock-picking memories?" 

“Stalking Kindaichi’s secret admirer." He replies without a shred of uncertainty. Yahaba goes of giggling again at the memory.

"We all thought Kunimi was just trolling him-”

"Until we found out he was serious..."

"Ahaha, and the time we broke in to the gym before morning practice to scare the first years on Halloween!"

"That was so mean."

"It was hilarious!"

"You didn’t have to wrap them in the net and tie them to the wall. And throw volleyballs at them… And use the fog machine you 'borrowed'-"

" _You_ helped us steal-"

"From the Drama department."

"Good times..."

"It feels like lifetimes ago." They pass a Chinese restaurant, half an hour from closing and bare of customers.

"... _Ah_ \- remember that time you, Watari, and I went to China town after we lost at Nationals?"

"China town?"

"Yeah- Yokohama, during that science excursion. Just us three- we went to that all you can eat, on the fourth floor-"

"And the elevator said we were too fat afterwards and you had to get out?"

" _Yes,_ Kentarou! How could I forget that?! And- thirty six dishes between the three of us at two-thousand each!"

"That _was_ incredible."

"The waiters looked at us in horror when we got our receipt!"

"Priceless."

"We should go back there!"

"I’ll give him a call tomorrow, see if he’s free."

"Good, good. How’s he been? We talked a lot but it- he’s always up to so much, I never get the gist of how he actually is."

"Eh, he’s here and there. Stressing. Struggling to get a better job."

"Yeah, he kept mentioning that. So he still works with that publishing-"

"Mhm, he won’t stop complaining."

"I _thought_ there was a reason behind you never using LINE to talk."

"Email is easier. Less notifications."

"So I figured."

"You know me so well." He pauses, glancing out of the corner of his eye, holding eye contact with Yahaba for the longest length yet. "Shingeru?"

"That... I’m not so sure about."

"Hm? Then _I_ have changed?"

"You talk more, but you’re more guarded."

"Because I gotta, at my work, probably."

"Even when you had that convenience store job in high school, you were nothing like this."

"I guess I’m just-"

"Nervous, I know. That’s how I can tell." Kyotani makes a noise in the back of his throat, an undecided note to go on and also to shut up. Yahaba restarts, whatever the indication meant. "You used to go quiet and scrunch-eyed when you were anxious and trying to figure something out- you were more active when nerves got the best of you, in small bits. tapping feet, fidgety hands, trembling fingers. I always noticed, even if you didn’t-"

"I never did."

"Yeah. You’d fight it out with blood, sweat, and tears on the fucking volleyball court. And then you’d go back to your annoying, jerkish self for a while."

"Sounds like me, huh?"

"You, yeah." He has no idea why this is an imperative speech- judging by Kyotani’s contemplatively narrowed eyes at his sneakers as they slosh through the puddle in the gutter, falling what can only be purposely between the white lines of the crossing. "Now, you’re more settled. Centralized?"

"The fuck ‘s that supposed to mean..." Kyotani speaks without bite; even his swear a mute thud lost in the rain.

"I don’t want to say internalised, because that’s wrong. I know you still trust me- even though I’ve been away for so long... You never would’ve invited me over otherwise."

"Hm, 's called being polite."

"Not for you its not."

"Eh?" Again, he’s soft and almost cautious. Not callous and defensive, like Yahaba would have expected four, five years ago. Perhaps it’s true; distance makes the heart grow fonder, or however the dumb saying went. Perhaps Watari wasn’t lying when he video called every second week, dialing him in and taking his time to respond to Yahaba’s questioning of Kyotani. Filling all the bits he knows Kyotani would skirt around in his emailing.

Perhaps Kyotani missed him too, more than he wants to admit; probably because he knows Yahaba has guessed it already and doesn’t want to waste words.

"You are polite by making yourself as unobtrusive as possible, yet there. Impolite- you turn up when you are unwelcomed, or don’t bother to show your face at all."

"True."

"And you bite your nails. I hate it."

"Yeah, well you smoke."

"Fuck off." Yahaba stares him down, Kyotani daring to dart under the umbrella and pat Yahaba’s pocket. Sure enough, a hard patch breaks the curve of his hip. "It’s _empty_."

"That’s not exactly comforting."

"... It’s been empty since katsu don." Mute, Kyotani steps away and searches the ground for an answer. _‘Since that chain of emails?’_ Yahaba can basically hear him think, _'since halfway through last year, when we argued over ten thousand words on whether he had perfected a pork cutlet bowl with the help of some dumb Russian tourist who’d moved in next door to his flat in LA? Am I really supposed to believe that?'_

"Why the box-"

"I wanted to remind myself. Not to, I mean. You remember that time, _of_ _course_ you do. You have them printed out, possibly stuck all over the walls of your bedroom." 

Kyotani sniffs.

"I’ll have you know my apartment has two rooms."

“Bathroom, and everything else.”

“Shut up.”

"You know what I mean."

"Stupidly enough, I do."

"Still..."

"Still. Sounds like you enough."

"To keep an empty packet in my pocket, to know exactly what you did with our emails without even asking, or-"

"All of it, all of it-"

"Hm, well turns out it may not be that you’ve changed that unsettled me, but that you haven't really changed at all. Or, that I can still read you like a damn book where people are thwarted by your dumb, mean-faced misdirection."

"True."

"You really did well to find a small nook in this city, one so similar to home. I _like_ this neighborhood, even if its a bit rundown and… As the Australians say, _bogan_."

"The fuck?"

"Yeah, right? They’re a… Whatever. You have changed, but being too far out of your shell is something you’ll never do comfortably- which I like. I’d hate for you to force yourself like that, even if it’s for work, for your food and paying your rent."

"Isn’t much, considering."

"Huh- it can’t be that much, right? One room for everything and a bathroom. Ideal, for you, being able to see all the corners of the place at once. I’ll bet you installed some extra locks as well- three. Four? Is it better than the place you lived in-"

"Yeah, but I’m still-"

"Paranoid. doesn’t hurt, the extra security and the lack of anxiety in the comfort of those bolts."

"Chains."

"Ah, you have a deadbolt. Two? Two. Nice. You have a view, too- I saw, in the picture. I can’t wait to see it for myself."

"Not high."

"A view’s a view. It has its own charm, out a window. Sometimes, roof and railways are better than autumn forests, than big buildings. Skytree. Cherry blossoms in the springtime. I want to see what you do, every morning when you wake up and at night before you sleep. And on days you spend inside, because I know you have your bed next to the window- and I know how much you _hate_ getting up."

"Mornings suck."

"Mornings _do_ suck, and you always stayed under the covers on weekends. Or when we didn’t have morning practices. No one knows your hate for mornings more than I do- maybe my mum. I can so easily picture you, curled up facing a big city cramped in to one small window pane, hating the sunlight but not wanting to compromise your thoughts. You never got up for tea, did you. Too much effort, at that hour- at any time before midday. I always had to bring you it- aha! I’ll bet you even took initiative to teach your dog to brew tea and bring it to your bedside. He’d do it, if you explained it right. That dog would do anything for you."

"Tried."

"And failed, ah, that’s cute." Kyotani scoffs at the word as it leaves Yahaba’s lips, as if he knew it was coming. "You _know_ it is."

"Now, I can..."

"Oh, so you expect me to make tour tea every morning? Now that I’m back, I’ll be your dog?” He mocks, giggling at Kyotani’s jaw-drop at the unsaid insinuation. “Expect me to follow your every bidding? That’s even cuter, Kentarou. I have a lease for another half-year, but-"

"Later?"

"Y-yeah, that conversation can... Can definitely wait for later. Sorry-"

"Don’t be."

"It. Yes. We can- uh, think about it. A bit. More..." He’s suddenly stifled with an onslaught of images, picturing domestics with Kyotani. Early mornings for him, sitting alone in the kitchen with a dog over his lap or resting in the bed besides Kyotani, snoring and still dead asleep until the midday sun hits. Both of them having to go to work on weekdays, but allowing themselves slow weekends together. He’d leave Kyotani, still asleep, for his business hours and come home to an empty house- wait up for Kyotani’s return close to ten at night, have dinner ready to reheat. Brushing their teeth together- Yahaba making dumb faces and trying to make Kyotani laugh and spit toothpaste froth everywhere, like he had during their third year training camp. Yahaba, bolting in to the toilets and screaming at Watari for stealing his underwear, was wearing nothing but the most ridiculous pair of alien shorts Kyotani- any of them –had seen in their lives. He still has them, still wears them, and would probably wear them around their house for only Kyotani to see. And Kyotani has seen him at his _worst_ ; so donning Oikawa’s parting gift would be a blip on the scale. A large one- still, only a blip-sized fuck up. He’d cop crap for it, but those shorts are amazingly comfortable. They’d get in to bed together, Kyotani curled with his back to the wall, arms and legs strewn over Yahaba; the bed would be cold in winter, but they’d be warm together. In summer only a thin sheet would cover them and even then, Kyotani and his hot blood would have it kicked to the end of the mattress.

A cold wind blows and Yahaba assures himself that it’s just the frosty air bringing a rush of heat to his face. Pains ache in every corner of his body as the weather beats him, sidetracking with its numbness, mercilessly dragging him back to the present. It takes a moment to remind himself that _no, I am imagining something entirely cheesy_ , which in turn is churned- _just the cold, distracting, I’m just distracted_ -and passed off as the stinging tips of his ears. 

 _Just the cold, just the cold..._ He repeats to himself, willing the next words out of his mouth to be less future reaching, less utterly focused on himself and the man beside him. The latter, the man trudging along and leading him thin street after thin street, is all that’s on his mind- besides the wind, _the cold, of course_. "Also... I love it when you add in words as I talk. Leave me to guess, correcting things that don’t really help but. It’s..."

"I love it that you shut the fuck up when I talk." No hostility- not a tinge to Kyotani’s tone, his expression in the shimmered street lights, in his dulled eyes that flutter to keep out raindrops. His eyelashes are thick and clumped by the rain; his hood doing little to save him and Yahaba’s scarf- Yahaba doesn’t offer his umbrella. Kyotani wouldn't walk under it anyway. Overwhelmed with the want to run a thumb over Kyotani’s eyelids- the smudged eyeliner and wet lashes, over his cheek, his lips -Yahaba turn to face the dark alley-like streets, interwoven with bitumen and street wires and unlit signs.

"I love that you talk when I pause- even more when I don’t, and you just-"

"I love that you bother at all."

"I-"

"I love that you bothered at all. With me, I mean. Back then, and. And now, it means a lot. That you still..."

"... Do you know how much those emails meant to me?"

"About as much as they mean to me. Y-you guessed close enough, but...” His single mess-up almost scares him in to silence. Yahaba blushes for him. It isn’t even the cold this time. He refuses that part of himself, the side that shies away from this, another deep-seated reflex he’d tirelessly worked to shatter before he’d had to travel overseas, “You’ll see when we get back. I can’t be bothered to hide them."

"So- take an extra step and relax about me. I’m coming over, I’m seeing your dog, I’m back in Tokyo. I’ve got a job offer at a University for English and something in Social Studies. I’m not running around anymore, and. I- _hope_ we can do what we plan, you know- moving in, and stuff. Together."

Realization crosses Kyotani’s face, chased by guilt, and finally acceptance. Caught in his own web of falseness, subconsciously trying to pattern in to how they been before Yahaba left. And this bastard, Yahaba fucking Shingeru, he saw right through it where Kyotani wasn’t even aware. Kyotani’s conclusion reads across his face like bold kanji on a backlit poster: _‘As per usual’._

"Put away that dumb umbrella, first."

"I hate you."

“Fuck off.”

Yahaba doesn’t even bother closing the thing- he chucks it hard enough to carry in the wind, blowing to the side of the road and lodging between a light post and the wall of a building. Kyotani is in his arm in a few short strides, head nudging under his chin, meeting him in the middle of the backstreet. Icy hands creep in under the back of his two outer layers, staying still a safe distance over the cover of his thermal shirt. 

"Don’t." Yahaba growls, one word, gruff in to Kyotani’s hair, and he gives in.

His fingertips stain Yahaba’s back with patches of frostbite, dancing along his skin like a skater on the ice. The wind sneaks in through the opening of his jacket, hitting the strip of skin around his middle that grows, Kyotani’s hands searching higher and higher, almost to his shoulder blades before changing course, thankfully coming down a little, sliding until they’re almost clutched to his own chest but still beneath all of Yahaba’s clothes. Clammy palms rest flat to his chest, already warming in the sweated-out undershirt Yahaba had tossed various layers over, been on two flights and one four-hour transfer in, ran in, caught the train in, met Kyotani for dinner in, caught the train some more, and then walked in the rain in. 

"You smell better." Head just at the collar of Yahaba’s jacket and shirt, buttons popped noisily open by his ministrations, he takes a deep breath in and leans his weight more on Yahaba.

"My- I- that singlet hasn’t been changed for twenty hours of travel, plus-"

"Shingeru."

"What?"

"Shut up."

Kyotani pulls away, hands sliding out down the lower hem, trailing over his lower stomach. They leave behind flutters of something Yahaba has learnt is far from arousal.

"Mhm…” He leans- not intruding, not touching until Kyotani allows, "Again?"

"You…" But Kyotani withdraws, takes his hand and tugs him, a little more insistent than before. "You can be patient. As much I love your smell, you are actually disgustingly sweaty. And ‘s not in the good, exercise-sweat way."

"Didn’t know there was a difference." Yahaba knows there is, has travelled all around the United States and to this place and that. He just wants to hear Kyotani speak in this way some more- flat, to any other ears, but the carefully quiet tone is doting. Caring. 

"Well there is. We’re not even minute away- you can have a shower, and then..."

Yahaba smirks at him.

"And then?"

"… I’ll lock the door and never let you leave again."

Yahaba beams up at the sky, having to scrunch his eyes closed against the rain, against the furious swell of emotions that bubble and threaten to explode in the form of tears, shouting, crying- however they can possibly manage to on this physical plane.

"Doors only lock to the outside,” His voice is hoarse from holding back. Kyotani’s hand re-grips on his own and he clasps back. “It’s useless to do that if I’m already there."

"I’m sure I’ll find a way."

"I’m sure you will."

"… It’s surprisingly clear..."

"I noticed on my way in.”

"Nice having clear air for once."

They’re crossing alleyways faster now, all under the criss-cross power lines marring the paths of light carved through the dark- the stars on the horizon, peeking between the tops of buildings and the blanket of rainclouds. When Yahaba lowers his head to look, Kyotani’s eyes are already on him.

He blinks, once, if clearing his vision will prove this sight to be some elaborate dream.

Kyotani blinks back up at him.

"Too bad it’s so hard to breathe around you…"

Kyotani kicks at his shin, holding him up when he trips.

" _Loser._ "

"I am."

"I hate you."

"You, too."

=+=

**Author's Note:**

> WooOOOOOOO  
> i started this fic on cant fight against the youth, went through nicotine and time to dance and ALWAYS [!!!!CAN!!!!U!!!!TELL!!!WHICH!!!!!BIT!!MY!DUDES!!!!! I !! SUCK !!!] and northern downpour and girls-girls-boys and literally everything else, and finished on that green gentleman so it’s a mESS OF URIE IM SoO done [what do u mean i have a p!atd playlist with just everything ever no that’s silly ahahaahahah]
> 
>  
> 
> .
> 
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> [QUICK SHOUTOUT ANYONE WHO LOVES 5SOS  
> AND KNOWS HOW MUCH I L O V E THEM AUSSIE BASTARDS  
> BIG MOOD: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTXI5HMNKm0 STUTTER BY MARIANAS TRENCH]


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